


My Silver Lining

by wandering_gypsy_feet



Series: Week of One Shots [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Biker AU, F/M, Modern AU, oh this one has smut btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-10 19:10:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18414101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandering_gypsy_feet/pseuds/wandering_gypsy_feet
Summary: 5 little snippets of the live Sansa and Sandor lived after the war. Sansa learned to become a biker's wife and Sandor learned to live with a pack. 5 moments of their lives together.Sequel to The Girl from the North Country.Final in the week of oneshots series.





	My Silver Lining

**Author's Note:**

> GUYS I LOVE THIS ONE SO MUCH LIKE SO SO MUCH and it's the last one thank goodness
> 
> as always, titles as songs - they're part of the sansan playlist i created but wasn't able to fit into the original. i recommend you give them a listen! 
> 
> and also as always reviews are love

_winter bones_

 

Sansa stared out the train window, watching as the countryside raced by. They were weaving deeper into the Scottish highlands and as she watched the views outside, they were progressively growing wilder. She'd brought a book along to read in case she got bored, but she'd spent most of the journey with her nose pressed to the glass, trying her hardest to memorize every nook and cranny of the country. 

 

Sandor was brooding on the seat across from her. He had been exhausted on the flight over, since Robb kept him on a run even though Sansa threatened to murder him if Sandor missed this, and had spent the majority of their long flight fast asleep. She hadn't minded at all; it was easy to keep herself busy with her laptop, books, and drawing. 

 

He'd been pretty happy to land in Scotland; for the first few days in Inverness, he'd dragged her to and fro, showing off castles and cathedrals and markets. His scots became more pronounced to the point where even she lost understanding of it after he'd had a few pints. They'd been enjoying themselves, but now that the time came to go back to Sandor's home, he'd grown dreadfully crabby. Sansa ignored that for the most part; she understood his reluctance. She just wished the weather didn't match his mood so well. 

 

She needed her umbrella when the train stopped in the tiny, quaint town. She gathered up her backpack - Sandor had her bag - and followed the couple people also getting off into the station. Sandor stayed close behind her, guiding her outside. She peered up at him from under the umbrella, trying to imagine what he was thinking. 

 

He gazed up the long main street that divided the town in half. His grey eyes were dark but Sansa had seen them worse. The rain pelted his face but he didn't seem to care, not until she tugged on his arm and reminded him that they did have clothes in those bags that she'd rather not get soaked. He bustled her across the street and to a small house that would serve as their temporary home. She'd been delighted to get the deal on a house booking site and Sandor seemed to appreciate that they wouldn't need to stay at his old home. 

 

"This is so cute!" she exclaimed, upon Sandor letting them in. Her voice was slightly hoarse from the lack of use during the entire train ride, but Sandor only grunted. It was a snug, homey sort of place, with a fresh vase of flowers on the table and a slightly worn rug below them. 

 

"Get dry, the rain will give you a chill," Sandor ordered and Sansa smiled at that. He worried so. 

 

"Do you think it'll let up?" Sansa looked out the windows at the grey sky. 

 

"It's Scotland," Sandor said flatly and Sansa gave him a look. He relented after a moment. 

 

"I'm sure it will little bird. Just give it time." she knew he was talking about more than the weather then, so she gave him a kiss and took their bags to go upstairs to the bedroom and let him have his space. 

 

They made themselves a small supper and decided to stay in for the night; it was still raining hard. Sansa snuggled into Sandor and brought the blanket up higher over her shoulder. There was a not so small part of her that was beginning to question their wisdom in booking return tickets. They could stay here, in rainy Scotland, where no one knew her last name, her father and brother, or any of the danger that came with them. 

 

But she knew that wasn’t fair to Sandor. He’d left home for a reason, and a brutal one at that. Sansa was glad that he’d decided he wanted to come back and bring her along, but she knew better than to push it. This was not her place to fall in love with, at least not until Sandor had made his peace with it. So instead she blew on her tea and shut her eyes. Sleep would be good. 

 

“Good morning,” she greeted Sandor as the sun rose the next day. It was a weak sort of sunlight, but it was there nonetheless. She’d brought Sandor up his coffee. He squinted at her from the bed. 

 

“You’re all sorts of chipper.” 

 

“Someone has to be and you’re perpetually grumpy.” Sansa handed him the coffee and sat carefully at the end of the bed. 

 

“Sorry,” he grumbled, taking a sip. She didn’t say anything else, waiting for him to settle in. After a few more drinks of the coffee, he sat up a little straighter. 

 

“It looks nice out,” Sansa said carefully and he made a noise of agreement, glancing at the window. 

 

“Aye, it does,” he said heavily and then flung the blanket aside and rose. “So what do you say little bird?” 

 

“Alright,” she stood as well, trying to conceal her excitement. She got dressed in warm clothes, since Scotland was chilly even in the summer, and the sturdy rain boots Sandor had made sure she purchased almost the second they touched down in Scotland. Sandor got dressed as well, albeit far slower than she did. Then he offered her his hand. She took it, pulling him down for a kiss. 

 

“Are you ready?” he whispered when they parted, eyes searching hers, and Sansa kissed his nose. 

 

“Yes,” she promised. 

 

The house wasn’t that far away, tucked up and in some hills. Sandor paid for a cab to take them up and drop them at the end of a long drive. When they got out, Sandor was looking at the gravel road in front of him as though it was going to spring to life and swallow him whole. 

 

“Fucking hells,” he muttered under his breath and Sansa wrapped her arm around his waist. 

 

“It’ll be alright,” she said softly and then gently pulled him up the walk. As they turned a bend in the drive, the house loomed before her and Sansa gasped, unable to stop herself. 

 

The house was beautiful. It made her want to run and get her pencils so that she could sketch it. A low stone wall in front of a small stone cottage, right out of a fairytale. It was rather small, two stories, but there was something whimsical about it, like a long lost princess might be living within. A small barn made of matching stone was tucked away behind it, nestled into the landscape. The wide open green hills opened up behind it. Sansa thought of a young Sandor running all over them with his dogs. 

 

“I’d forgotten how scenic it is,” he grumbled, as though he was annoyed at his childhood home for retaining it’s beauty. Then he was pushing the gate open. Sansa scrambled to follow. He pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the front door, pushing it open. Sansa squinted into the shadowy darkness. 

 

It looked like any other empty home; the air was slightly stale with neglect and dust. The rooms were devoid of anything, though Sansa could about imagine where the table and chairs went in the kitchen, where a nice couch would fit in, what curtains she’d put on the windows. It was too easy to imagine it as a home. She stopped herself. She looked at Sandor, but he was looking at the space at the bottom of the stairs. She remembered his story and grabbed his hand. 

 

“How are you doing?” she asked him carefully. He’d been so good with her after Joffrey, letting her take the time and put herself back together. She just wanted to give him the same comfort. 

 

“Alright,” it seemed to take a great effort on his part to drag himself out of the past. He turned around and walked back out into the sunshine; Sansa cast one last longing look at the home and then went to follow him. 

 

Sandor didn’t seem to want to go back into the house, which Sansa understood. Instead they spent the morning rambling over the hills, Sandor telling her the stories of his dogs and the adventures they had. Sansa was just starting to get hungry when Sandor abruptly turned and started following a faint game trail. Sensing what it would be, Sansa followed quickly after him. 

 

The meadow where his sister was buried was a beautiful place. It had gently waving grass, flowers, a large tree that cast a bit of shade, and her tombstone. Sandor moved towards it like he was in a dream, going to kneel down before it. His fingertips brushed her name and date carved in it and Sansa knelt beside him, tears running unchecked down her face. 

 

“I’m home, piuthar,” he whispered, “I’m home Ally, I came home.” 

 

Sandor cried at the grave, the few tears he would allow himself. Sansa cried with him, a bit more freely, for everything that could have been. But then she never would have met him and had this. The universe was cruel like that. 

 

Eventually Sandor rose and walked away, taking deep breaths. Sansa let him go. She had something of her own to tell Aileana. She gathered a few flowers and left them on the grave, then leaned forward and whispered to the white stone, 

 

“It’s alright. I’ve got him now. And I’m doing my best, I promise. Thank you.” she pressed a kiss to the stone and rose, going to join Sandor. 

 

They left the village the next day. Sandor strung the key to the home on a bit of twine and placed it around her neck. Sansa understood what it meant. He couldn’t hold the weight of that place on his own. She would lighten his load for as long as she could, and maybe one day they could return. Maybe. 

 

He proposed the last night they were in Inverness, sitting down in the shadow of the castle. He promised her a future together. One they made. One they defined. Sansa had no other answer for him but a resounding yes, even if her next words were to tease him if he’d gotten the club’s permission. They were headed home, everything changed, nothing more so than Sandor. He was lighter and Sansa was grateful. 

 

She kept the key close to her heart, a piece of Sandor he only trusted with her. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Long and Lost_

 

It was pouring rain. That felt fitting, to Sandor. It was what he deserved, to be miserable. He'd been miserable for about a week straight, but this was just frosting on the cake, so to speak. An extra dose, just enough to send him over the edge. It appealed to his grim humor. He looked over at Jory and Little Jon, both of whom looked similarly put out by the downpour. 

 

"This'll be shit to drive in," muttered Beren from behind him. 

 

"Maybe we won't have to." Sandor lit up a cigarette. Sansa hated when he smoked. But Sansa wasn't currently speaking to him, so what did it matter? 

 

"Unlikely," sighed Jory, "Robb will want us back as soon as possible. That means riding all day." 

 

"And night, if Corn doesn't hurry up," muttered Beren. Morgan Liddle, nicknamed Corn for reasons Sandor still didn't understand, was meant to meet up with them to finish the last leg of the run. He didn't much care if Corn made it. It just put him one step closer to having to go home and deal with a vengeful wife. 

 

In her defense, Sansa had every right to be angry. Their fight had been more like a blowout, made worse by the fact that they never fought. It was their most annoying quality as a couple, according to Arya. They got along so well that they never fought. Disagreements here or there, usually solved by compromises. But in the year and a half since they'd escaped Joffrey, got engaged, Sandor became a wolf, and they got married, they never fought. 

 

What made this fight so bad was that it was, in it's essence, over nothing. Sansa had asked him not to go. She'd asked him to tell Robb that he needed to stay home. But Sandor had wanted to go. He liked being on the road. He liked the freedom; for so long he'd been a nomadic soul and doing these runs kept his feet from itching to move on again. 

 

Robb had won the war and now his territory was growing. It required more manpower, more club members, and oftentimes he'd send those he trusted to act on his behalf. Sandor was one of those people; married to his younger sister, godfather to Robb's newborn son, there was no one else he trusted as much. So he told Sansa that under no uncertain terms would he be staying, and she'd lost it. 

 

He chose the club over her. He wanted to leave. She was being over dramatic, she was being irrational. They'd been spending too much time together. They'd been spending too much time apart. Everything was a disaster, the world was crashing down around them. Sandor had left in a huff and Sansa, usually diligent about texting or calling him at least once a day while they were on the road, hadn't said a word to him since. 

 

"Excited to be home?" Beren swiped a cigarette and Sandor's lighter. He grunted noncommittally. "I will be. Can't wait to see May again." Beren exhaled smoke. 

 

"Yes, she's the one, isn't she?" Sandor gave him an amused look. Beren went through women like Sandor went through socks.

 

"Maybe," he shrugged, "but it helps when she misses me during shit like this. The sex is so much better, you know?" 

 

"Sure." Sandor ground his cigarette out, trying his best not to think about Sansa. This was the first time he ever hadn't been thrilled to go home and see her again; usually he'd be almost jittery with the glee of getting to see her again. Instead he was in a black mood, growing darker by the minute as Beren refused to shut up, waxing poetic about reuniting with his girlfriend. 

 

"And man, when she goes that thing with her toes? I lose my shit man, I really do. She's--"

 

"Shut the fuck up, would you?" Sandor growled, reaching for another cigarette. Beren stopped with a sly smile. 

 

"Oh, so you are as crabby as she is then." 

 

"What?" Sandor shot him a look. 

 

"Sansa," Beren said, as if it should've been obvious, "she's been a pistol all week." 

 

"And you know this how?" Sandor demanded, incensed. There wasn't a thought in his mind about Sansa doing anything with Beren, but he had no idea the two of them were close. 

 

"She's been texting me,” Beren revealed, then added hastily, “not in that way! Just to check in on you. Because you two aren’t talking.” 

 

“She tell you why?” the cigarette between his fingers felt to flimsy, like he was going to crush it to bits. 

 

“No,” Beren took the cigarette from him and crushed it out, “and I know she hates this shit.” 

 

“Fuck off,” Sandor warned, more and more fed up. Beren shrugged, leaning back. 

 

“Alright asswad, don’t take it out on me. You two are in a fight, what the fuck do I care?” he finished off his own cigarette and rose, stretching. “But just so you know, it’s been every day.” 

 

“Fucking hell,” Sandor grumbled as Beren went to join to card came between Little Jon and Jory. Sandor pushed away and went outside. He needed air. He stood under the eaves of the motel, watching the rain and trying to stop himself from throwing a very large pity party for himself. 

 

So he and Sansa were fighting. Other couples fought. Beren fought with every girlfriend he had, except he called it foreplay. It was normal. Natural. All he had to do was apologize. But he couldn’t suck up his pride and do just that, not when everything felt so raw. That was his Sansa. She was his center. His home. His everything. They didn’t fight. 

 

He knew the part of the reason why he felt so tormented was because there was a small part of him that was convinced that he would be going home to an empty house. That it had been a dream, the only happy period of his life. He knew it was dramatic. He knew it was irrational. But it didn’t make it any less terrifying to imagine her leaving him. She was too good for him, always. 

 

He was making it worse, he knew that. His mind was running wild, made worse by the fact he didn’t just suck it up and apologize to her before he’d left. Or better yet, he should’ve stayed and worked it out. He knew she was stressed, that she got nervous, that she was just as irrational as he could be at times. He knew better. Or he should’ve. 

 

As he smoked another cigarette and stared out into the rain, he vowed to be better. Sansa was an angel and she deserved better, but she'd promised to have and to hold with him. He needed to do right by her. She'd put up with so much of his shit that it was impossible not to put the blame on himself. He put the cigarette put by letting the stream of water coming off the roof extinguish it. Beren was right, she did hate when he smoked. 

 

Corn showed up in the middle of the right, cursing out the weather, crabby and cold. They delayed leaving so that he could have a hot shower, but that was it. Sandor was impatient to get home and see Sansa again, to put this behind them. He just wanted to go home. 

 

By the time they began to near Winterfell, the other riders started to peel off. Beren headed into town where his little house was. Doubtless someone was waiting there for him. Corn departed down a side street to his little farm, while Little Jon roared off right before Winterfell, to his home. Sandor and Jory carried on, Sandor to his home and Jory to go report to Robb. 

 

He and Sansa had turned one of the old barns on the property into their home. It had been a labor of love from the start, hauling out the junk and putting in the heating, plumbing, everything. He'd liked the chance to build something that was utterly his, and he knew Sansa was delighted to completely design the inside to her exact specifications. It was their haven. 

 

He parked outside under the little overhang specifically for his bike and slowly went to the house. Sansa was standing in the doorway, arms folded, hair hanging down her back in a long braid. As he got closer, he could see that her lips were trembling and tears were forming in her eyes. He hung back, unsure if she was still so angry with him that she was crying. 

 

"Listen, little bird, I'm sorry we fought, we never should've. You're my home, you're my everything, I know that and--" he was cut off when Sansa threw herself off the steps and into his arms, burying her face in his neck. 

 

He staggered slightly with the weight, then picked her up and held her close. This was right. This was bliss. This was his wife and she was everything. All that mattered was that they were together. They'd figure the rest out.

 

* * *

  

_I Will Come_

 

 

"Sansa?" 

 

"Jesus Arya, you scared the shit out of me. Don't sneak up on me like that when I'm painting." 

 

"Sorry, it's just...." 

 

"What? Arya, what?" 

 

"Sansa, don't freak out." 

 

"What? Arya! Why are you telling me not to freak out? You know that only makes it worse!" 

 

"It's Sandor." 

 

"God, what did he do now? I swear, if he thinks he's going to bring home another stray...." 

 

"No, San, he was.... Shot." 

 

_"What?"_

 

"He was -- calm down -- he's alright! He was with Robb on a drop, they were -- where are you going?" 

 

"Where the fuck do you think?" 

 

"You don't even know where he is!" 

 

"Someone will tell me!" 

 

"Sansa, fuck, will you let me drive you then?" 

 

"Hurry up then." 

 

"Let me got a coat."

 

"Arya! My fiance has been shot! There is two months until this wedding. Fuck your coat!" 

 

"Holy shit, calm down. He's fine. He's been through this before." 

 

"Yes, and last time it was because of you. Do you think now is the best time to remind me of that?" 

 

"Call Robb, tell him we're on our way. And Robb's fine, by the way, in case you wanted to worry about your brother." 

 

".... was anyone else hurt?" 

 

"No. Put your fucking coat on, it'll be cold on my bike." 

 

\-----

 

"Sansa, listen, I can explain."

 

"Can you Robb? Please, explain to me why my fiance has been shot!" 

 

"It's a graze." 

 

"Really? Is that how you want to start?" 

 

"Okay, sorry. He's fine. Talisa is here, she's patching him up, right as rain." 

 

"Let me talk to him." 

 

"He's, uh, sedated." 

 

"What. The. Fuck. Did. You. Do."

 

"He was in pain!" 

 

"Robb! What did you do!" 

 

"We knocked him out." 

 

"I am going to kill you. How did you knock him out, he's seven feet tall!" 

 

"Boom said the horse tranquilizer was perfectly safe." 

 

"Are you joking? You better be joking. I'm going to kill you. Murder you, forcefully." 

 

"He's fine. When he's up, I'll have him call you first thing. Promise." 

 

"Arya's almost done getting gas, then we'll be back on the road. If he wakes up, tell him I'm coming." 

 

\---

 

"Sansa! Arya!" 

 

"Hiya Rody." 

 

"Where's Sandor?" 

 

"What, no hi hello how are you? Weird having Arya be more polite." 

 

"Rodrick, where is he?" 

 

"Well about that." 

 

"What?"

 

"Don't panic now...." 

 

"Oh, don't tell her that, she really doesn't like it." 

 

"Shut up Arya. Where is he?" 

 

"Why don't you sit down, I'll get you a drink. It was a long ride." 

 

"Rodrick! Stop stalling! Where the fuck is he?" 

 

"He took a turn for the worst when you were driving. Talisa said he needed to go the hospital." 

 

"But.... Robb never sends anyone to the hospital." 

 

"He could get arrested. He didn't even take Sandor to the hospital when I shot him." 

 

"Talisa decided it was bad enough. So he's there." 

 

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit...." 

 

"What hospital? I'll take her." 

 

"No, Robb said when she got here I should do it. You stay here, rest. I'll take your sister." 

 

\---

 

"Hello, my name is Sansa Stark, I'm looking for Sandor Clegane."

 

"And you are, miss?" 

 

"His fiance." 

 

"Alright, let me look it up." 

 

"Thank you." 

 

"He's in room 72, it's right down this hall."

 

"Thank you." 

 

"Sansa, Sansa wait--"

 

"Rodrick, I appreciate you bringing me here but if you try to keep me from seeing him I will punch you in the face." 

 

"Okay, okay, I get that, but can you just slow down?" 

 

"No." 

 

"Christ, you've got your father's long legs." 

 

"Sansa!" 

 

"Robb, let me in his room." 

 

"Calm down first." 

 

"I'll calm down when I see him!" 

 

"Can you just breathe?" 

 

"Robb!" 

 

"Breathe." 

 

".... fine." 

 

"There, okay. Better. Here, Talisa is in there with him." 

 

"Sansa, I'm so sorry." 

 

"Tali.... What happened to him?" 

 

"He's okay, he just lost a lot of blood. More than I thought I could handle." 

 

"Oh, Sandor.... What did you tell the hospital?" 

 

"Just wrong place, wrong time. Innocent bystander. The neighborhood's had a rash of shooting. They're not asking too many questions." 

 

"Oh, Sandor...." 

 

"I'll take Robb and Rody, alright? Give you some space and time." 

 

"Thank you." 

 

\---

 

"Hey, little bird." 

 

'Here there you." 

 

"Where am I?" 

 

"Hospital. You're okay, it's fine." 

 

"Why?" 

 

"Talisa said you kept losing blood. You got shot, do you remember that?" 

 

"That what happened?" 

 

"Yeah. I've had words with Robb, told him not to do it again." 

 

"Aye?" 

 

"Yeah, made him promise." 

 

"That's my girl." 

 

"You feeling okay? Do you need anything?" 

 

"Just you. Just glad to see you. I'm home?" 

 

"No babe, I came to you." 

 

"You did?" 

 

"Mhmm. Arya drove me. It was actually pretty nice. She was nice to me about it but I think it was because she was convinced I was going to throw something through the window." 

 

"Did you?" 

 

"No, I got to you first." 

 

"Good girl." 

 

"You going to be able to stand up at our wedding?" 

 

"I'll try." 

 

"Good. I want that first dance, Sandor Clegane." 

 

"You'll get it. I'm pretty sleepy." 

 

"I know. Did they really give you horse tranquilizers?" 

 

"What?" 

 

"Nevermind. Get some sleep."

 

"You going to be here when I wake up?" 

 

"Always." 

 

* * *

 

_Faded from Winter_

 

 

Sandor stood in the circle of trees, doing his best not to fidget. He was growing impatient, not in the least because Sansa had yet to emerge from the gap between the trees. That had nothing to do with his current anxiety. Because certainly she wouldn't run away and leave him at the alter. It had been only just over a year since they'd fled Joffrey's together. She wasn't having second thoughts. So he told himself. 

 

He looked around at everyone that had gathered. He knew all their names and faces now. The old guard of the club, those who were like fathers to Sansa. Then the younger men and their wives, who followed Robb and who had moved from open hostility against Sandor to grudging acceptance to now something that he tentatively thought of as brotherhood. 

 

Sansa's entire family was there, and so were their wolves. Arya was standing up at the alter with him - she was Sansa's maid of honor after all - while Catelyn sat in the front row, holding Bran's hand tightly. Robb and Jon were standing next to Sandor, serving as joint best man, and Robb clapped his shoulder but didn't say anything. 

 

He was aware of how the air shifted and knew that Sansa had to be approaching. Everyone rose and turned as one, looking down the aisle that had been arranged so that Sansa approached from the south and walked up to meet him at the northern end of the clearing. He wondering if she'd planned it to be that way and decided she had. Everything about this wedding was planned by her, imbued with meaning. 

 

His breath stopped when she stepped into the clearing. She was walking alone; when she'd announced their engagement a small war had started over who was going to walk her down the aisle. Robb and Jon both offered their arms, and Sansa did waver for some time if she should have them both walk her down the aisle. 

 

All of Ned's oldest friends had also offered; the Greatjon, Rodrick, Jory, the lot. Sansa had also fretted over that, if she owed them that honor and who to award it to. Catelyn had mentioned she could do it, as had Brienne. Pod, Rickon, Bran, even Osha and Old Nan. It had gotten slightly ridiculous. Then Sansa had came to the conclusion, after many tears, that the only person to walk her down the aisle would be Ned, and since he couldn't be here, she would do it alone. Sandor's heart broke for her. 

 

She looked so beautiful. She'd wanted a winter wedding, so her dress was long sleeved and thick, but it hung so neatly on her frame that one could hardly tell. It was completely simple, except for the lace detailing on her chest and at the ends of her sleeves and train. Her veil cascaded down her back, longer than even her train. She moved across the uneven terrain with ease, her eyes fixed to Sandor's. 

 

She looked so stunning, with her big blue eyes and that red hair curled down her back. Lady laid at his feet, her tail thumping the ground as Sansa neared them. His bride was smiling, even if her lips trembled ever so slightly and she gripped the bundle of berries and flowers she carried in front of her. 

 

She reached Sandor, handing her bouquet off to Arya so that he could take her hands. He grasped them, giving them the tiniest bit of a squeeze. He grinned at her, trying to convey to her with just a look how lucky he was to have her, how she made him feel better than any form of vice before her, how much he loved her. Utterly. Completely. 

 

His winter bride. 

 

* * *

 

  

_Trust_

 

“Sandor, Sandor, Sandor, Sandor….” Sansa went through the house, trying her best not to spill her tea over the freshly done hardwood floor. Her husband was at the door, clearly taking off his boots. Sansa skidded into the entryway, grinning. 

 

“Hello,” he muttered, still unlacing the boots. 

 

“How was your day?” she was practically vibrating. Sandor glanced up at her and smiled slightly, shedding his kutte and hanging it on the hook by the door. 

 

“Good, but I feel like yours was better,” he remarked and she beamed. 

 

“I got a delivery today.” 

 

“Oh, of what?” he tried to peer around her into the kitchen, but Sansa was smarter than that. She’d paid Rickon thirty bucks to help her move everything in and then cart the boxes away. 

 

“Come and see,” she said mischievously, taking his hand and pulling him up off the bench. Sandor groaned but followed without much more protesting. 

 

Sansa had been hard at work the last couple days. They’d spent the entire summer renovating the barn into a new home for them, one not a mile from her home and her family. She had helped them install the cabinets, she’d helped them put down the flooring, she’d chosen all the paint for the walls, she’d done everything to fulfill the ideas and image she had in her head. To make their home. 

 

“What am I looking at?” Sandor grumbled, looking around the kitchen. Sansa spun him in a quarter turn so that he could see the portrait of Johnny Cash she’d hung by the table. 

 

“i like it,” he stated pleasantly. That was what he’d said when she’d shown him thirty different paint swatches, ten backsplash patterns, and four carpet samples. He’d told her since they’d began the project that home was where they were together. 

 

“I thought you would,” she kissed his ear. “Now c’mon, there’s more.” 

 

“More?” Sandor let her drag him into the living room. Sansa pointed to the mantle, where she’d placed photos of them in Scotland, a picture of the Highlands she’d taken, and the one of them Arya had taken of them sitting on the back of Sandor’s bike. 

 

“Do you like?” she asked him quietly. 

 

“I love.” he gave her a squeeze and she grinned. 

 

“Good. There’s even more.” 

 

“Is this what you do all day?” he teased her as Sansa prodded him towards the stairs. 

 

“Yes, and I sit on the couch, and I eat bon-bons,” she stated. Sansa led him to their bedroom, where the door was shut. He turned to glance at her, a quizzical smile on his face. 

 

The last time he’d been in there, it had been slightly chaotic. Sansa had made him assemble the bed but it was in the middle of the room so that she could paint the walls. No decorations were up yet, and the other furniture was still shoved in the hall with the clothes tangled on hangers and haphazardly thrown in drawers. 

 

“What did you do?” he asked her as she eased in front of him and pushed the door open. 

 

“Tada,” she said, stepping aside so that he could see. Inside was their bedroom, done proper. The massive California King bed - the only size that fit Sandor - was in the center of the room, facing the huge window that overlooked the forrest. Their dresser was across from it, a massive mirror in one corner, Sansa’s antique drawing desk in the other. 

 

The walls were tastefully decorated, with curios from their lives, photos, and little odds and ends Sansa had picked out from the shops. She watched with bated breath as Sandor slowly spun, taking it all in. Occasionally he’d notice something and smile, or nod his head like he agreed with it being on display. Finally he turned to her, grey eyes unreadable. 

 

“I wanted to make it a home,” Sansa was blathering, “I wanted to make sure you felt comfortable and I did too, I think I got the balance right, I don’t know, but I tried and—“

 

Sandor caught her off guard, practically tackling her back into the bed. She gave a little shout of surprise and a bit of protest; she’d spent twenty minutes getting the pillows on the bed arranged just so and now they were a mess around them. She forgave Sandor the second he kissed her forehead. 

 

“I love all that you do for me, little bird. Including giving me this home.” 

 

“Good,” she said softly, kissing him. 

 

“I don’t deserve you,” he muttered, kissing beneath her earlobe. “I don’t deserve this house, this place, my wife.” 

 

“Yes you do,” Sansa insisted, kissing the top of his head. Sandor was pulling her shirt off and she reached to do the same. Sandor didn’t respond; he was devoting his attention to her collarbones and down between her breasts. Sansa let him, tugging his shirt off. She would never get sick of exploring the hard muscles of his body and all that tattoos that covered them. 

 

Sansa shoved all the pillows off the bed, scrambling to get more purchase and pull Sandor with her. He followed her up, kissing her all the way. Sansa pulled at the belt on his pants, struggling to get it undone. Sandor left off kissing her to remove it and fling it aside. 

 

“I promise to pick that up later,” he muttered, smiling against her lips. Sansa laughed, happy that he knew her so well. Then she went to pull his pants down entirely. She tossed them off the bed and a moment later Sandor was removing her own. It took a bit of wiggling and squirming, but eventually they were both naked atop the new comforter. 

 

“Can I turn this down?” she asked him, as he kissed her stomach. 

 

“I wouldn’t dare dream of telling you no.” he rolled away so that she could pull down the comforter and neatly tuck it at the end. She grinned up at him and a second later, Sandor snatched her to him, holding her close. 

 

“I love you,” she told him, giving him another kiss. His fingers were gliding down her body, along her sides and then up her thighs. 

 

“I love you more,” he kissed her forehead just as one finger slipped inside her. Sansa laid back, her eyes fluttering shut. Sandor kissed her again, deeply, gently sliding in and out ever so slowly. Sansa wound her arm around his shoulders to pull him closer. He added a second finger, his thumb brushing over her clit. 

 

She was impatient to have him entirely, but Sandor seemed to be of the same mind. He knew her body so well now that it was easy for him to pleasure her. He kept a steady, easy rhythm until Sansa felt her entire body tightening. She gasped, but Sandor quickly covered her mouth with his own and kissed her as she came. 

 

“I want you,” she told him, before the tremors had even stopped. 

 

“I’m so glad you asked,” he replied, pulling her on top of him. Sansa guided him inside her and sighed in happiness. Sandor watched her face carefully and once he was certain she was alright, he gently began to thrust. Sansa adjusted herself slightly and then matched his pace, until Sandor was grunting and his fingernails dug every so slightly into her hips. 

 

“I love you inside me,” Sansa told him, “I love how you feel.” 

 

“Fuck, Sansa,” he muttered and she kissed him deeply. 

 

“I love you.” 

 

“I love you - jesus fuck!” Sandor gasped and gave one final thrust, he collapsed back down. Sansa laid down beside him, cuddling up to his bare chest. Sandor idly ran his fingers through her hair while she hummed in contentment. 

 

“I’m so glad we finally got to do that in our proper bedroom,” Sansa said happily and Sandor chuckled. 

 

“What else has been left untouched in this house then?” 

 

“They’re coming next week to install the clawfoot tub,” she informed him, scratching the growth of beard on his good check. Sandor made a noise of amusement and kissed her again. 

 

“Wherever I get to be home with you, little bird.” 

**Author's Note:**

> i cannot believe i finished this week how insane 
> 
> anyways i am so grateful for everyone who's followed along with this - i hope you enjoyed - here comes season 8!!!!


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